


Puppet Masters

by drippingwithsin



Series: Pinocchio [1]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Infidelity, Mentions of Fidget - Freeform, Mentions of Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingwithsin/pseuds/drippingwithsin
Summary: Joan knows.





	Puppet Masters

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline is obviously different. Thinking about doing a series of sorts between the three of them. If I do. Next will be Joan/Vera's confrontation.

The Clarice to Thomas Harris’ Hannibal, Bridget sits anxiously, albeit terrified at the prospect of diving into the deepest darkest recesses of this creature’s mind. Being a prison psychologist, she’s come across her fair share of lost souls, social cruelties, and utter madness but nothing/nobody in her experiences compares to the psychopath currently peering into very her soul at the moment.

 

Bridget asks a simple, albeit pointed question and when given an answer she writes a few numbers down. All are low. Damaging. 

 

Poised for the hunt, Joan’s keen senses miss absolutely nothing. “You’re not accessing you’re scoring.”

 

_She sees all, knows all._

 

_Ah, but she wants to hear it from your mouth._

 

Quid pro quo. Slips from nude lips, and it takes every second of Bridget’s intensive training not to shiver. Joan prattles out a few random questions.

  
  
The lioness circles her prey, meticulously searching for any sign of vulnerability. There’s an opening. A jagged scar just above its heart. She leaps.

 

“Have you ever been raped?”

 

Rough hands, fabric tearing, a burning pain between her thighs. No. “I’m not answering any of your questions.”

 

Victory glints briefly over a deceptively handsome face.“You just did.”

 

More blood spills into the water. The predator begins her pursuit anew.“Now I understand your reluctance to play. It's a bit close to the bone. What if I asked you about somebody else. Vera; for example. What’s your opinion of her?”

 

Bridget opens her mouth to say something unwisely heartfelt.

 

“Your _professional_ opinion.”

 

“Miss Bennett is an extremely capable governor. The media love her and she’s respected by all.” It’s partially true. Vera _is_ , in fact, a capable governor, but her compassion tends to cloud her judgment leaving her vulnerable to attacks.

 

Softness truly has no place in a prison.

 

“Liar liar pants on fire.” The viper hisses knowingly. Barbed tongue flickering excitedly at the scent of weakness.“You know as well as I do she’s weak. She’s a pathetic little creature. She would have languished upstairs forever as a shit kicker if I didn’t choose to mentor her.”

 

Bitterness laces each word. And Bridget will swear she heard a faint trace of hurt lingering in there as well.

 

She continues without mercy. “You’d be fascinated to know that her only act of courage-- was to euthanize her own mother.

 

At the cruel words, Bridget’s well-maintained facade finally snaps. “You truly are a cunt.”

 

There’s a pause. An unnerving shift in the atmosphere. And with her gaze firmly affixed on Bridget, Joan tilts her head slightly. Studying. Searching. Her nostrils flare as they draw in a lungful. Scenting. Tasting the air for any secrets.

 

The fine hair on Bridget’s neck raises, sweat begins to prickle along her hairline. She dares not move nor even blinks. The lioness approaches boldly from the front.

 

Joan’s lips suddenly begin to curl into a slow knowing smirk. Bridget's heart sinks. _She’s found something._

 

“Well, well, well now isn’t this _interesting_.” Her low smoky voice drawls. Dark eyes glittering with malicious delight.“Tell me, does Franky know you’re fucking the Governor of Wentworth or are the two of you planning on having some sort of tawdry ménage à trois with her?”

 

And there it is; the sword of truth. Wielded without mercy, it slices the psychologist at the knee. Bringing the normally stoic woman tumbling down to earth. No. How? How did she know? Nobody knew.

 

“Oh my, so she doesn’t.” The smile grows. Its gleam turns giddy. Vicious.“Color me surprised. I never figured you for the cheating sort. And Vera,” She tuts. “Whoever would’ve guessed she turn out to be a homewrecker.”

 

Blue eyes shift subtly.

 

“Oh,” Joan whispers. Eyes dancing madly.“Oh dear, she didn’t know either.”

 

Their affair was never a planned out one. Neither sought the other out. It was simply a case of too much whiskey, good company and an attractive doe-eyed woman needing comforting which somehow escalated to them entangled on Vera’s lumpy couch. Waifish hips rising and falling on two of her fingers.

 

It was sloppy, messy and good. Oh so fucking good. But wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. 

 

Afterwards, Bridget blamed herself. Vera; the alcohol.

 

They vowed never to do it again. Because of their jobs. Friendship. Franky. The last one ate at Bridget’s heart, alone. Vera didn’t know. Nor did she need to.  

 

Two weeks later, however, a late night at the office combined with another splash of second shelf best ends with her mounted over the governor's arched back with her hand drilling animalistically beneath a bunched prison-issued skirt.

 

And so it began.

 

The late nights, the lies, the nearly overwhelming guilt.

 

_Oh, what a tangled web we weave. And weave it did until the tangled strands nearly strangled her._

 

The sheer hurt in oceanic eyes was one she’ll soon never forget.

 

“Quid pro quo, Ms. Westfall. How did Vera find out? Did you tell her or did she find out accidentally?” Joan presses. No doubt for her own sadistic gain. 

 

Bridget’s jaw hardens. Her hands fist at her thighs. She knows right then she should leave, but can not for the life of her make herself move. Or even speak. 

 

“She found out.” Joan remarks knowingly.

 

_When Bridget enters the Governor’s office instead of the being greeted by the usual genial smile, a wall of ice nearly freezes her in place._

 

_She falters mid-stride but quickly catches herself. Maintaining her iron-clad professional aura. “We need to talk about Ferguson.”_

 

_“No, let’s talk about something else.” Her voice matching the coldness in her eyes. “Let’s talk about--the relationship you have with Franky Doyle.”_

 

_Bridget's face drains of all its color, her mouth flaps open and closed. The age-old song and dance has come to a close. “Vera, I-”_

 

_A petite hand cuts her off at the quick. “Don’t even try to deny it. I saw you, Bridget. I saw you with her. How could you do that to me? After all I’ve done for you. You turn back around and treat me like own your personal whore.”_

 

_“I’m so sorry, Vera. It was never supposed to be this way. I care for you a lot, but-- Franky.“ I’m in love with her. Goes unsaid, but the implement is enough._

 

_Behind doe blues, a tender heart shatters and God, Bridget has never felt like such a bitch in her life as did in that moment. Vera glances away and she can just make out her jaw clenching. Willing back tears._

_  
“Get out.”  She murmurs so lowly the blonde nearly misses it._

 

_“Vera, please.” Bridget steps forward. Wanting nothing more to wrap the smaller woman in a tight embrace. But she can't. It's too late. The damage is done._

 

_Vera’s gaze snaps back to her. Delicate face a mask of pure anguish. Betrayal. “I said, get out!”_

 

“Ironic, isn’t it?" Joan's cold passive tone pulls Bridget from her musing. "How you’re supposed to help people, but only manage to hurt them in the end.”

 

Exasperated, the psychologist slams her palms down on the table. “That's enough!”

 

Much to her dismay, however, there was no wince or even a blink; Joan merely stares, effortlessly maintaining her legendary control. “You can hide behind that greater good attitude and all those degrees you want to, Miss. Westfall. But in the end, you know as well as I do that the two of us are very much the same animal. A woman such as Vera is like catnip to us. We simply cannot resist the temptation." 

 

Bridget shakes her head, glaring. "You and I are nothing alike and leave Vera out of this. She's ten times the woman you'll ever be." She spats spitefully and later on, Bridget will swear she saw the devil himself flash within those dark depths. It was brief. Merely a glimpse, but it was enough to have Bridget second-guessing herself.   
  
  
  
There's a heart-pounding silence.  
  
  
  
Joan leans her impressive form over the tabletop until Bridget’s personal space is only salvaged by the object in between them. “Was it intoxicating? The way she _writhed_ underneath you. Begging oh so sweetly for your fingers. For your tongue. To go harder. Faster as your teeth sink into her untouched flesh. Ever the submissive one.”

 

Against her will, Bridget’s eyes slip shut. Flashes of the following weeks roll through her mind like a cinematic reel. Vera’s petite body trapped between her own and the wall, bucking against her pace whilst a slender leg around her hip pulls Bridget ever closer. Her mouth buried between sweat slicked bronze thighs. Tasting. Drinking greedily at sweet juices. Blown earnest blues watching her as trembling coral lips stutter around each syllable of her name. Christ.

 

Briget opens her eyes and Joan leans back once more. Cool, calm and collected the lioness readies her claws for evisceration.

 

“Franky’s never like that, is she?” The ex-governor shakes her head, ebony and silver hair swaying with the movement. “No, I don’t suspect so. She’s a predator after all. She’d never _bend_ to your will like sweet little Vera did. And that’s truly why you were so drawn to her, wasn’t? Vera; that is. Because she was incapable of hurting you. Not like the others did. Not like Franky _could_. And certainly not like that- _man_.”

 

Bridget’s jolts from her chair so quickly it flies across the room and slams into the nearest table. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up! You psychopathic cunt. You don’t know anything about me!”

 

That maddening triumphant smirk. “I do now.”

 

Bridget manically gathers her belongings and rushes for the exit.

 

“Of course none of this recording will be any use to you. And you are recording this, right?” Unseen by the blonde, Joan tilts her head towards the poorly hidden camera and smiles.

 

Frozen in place, Vera can only stare at the CCTV with her mouth agape. Oh, God. They were so fucked. So very, very fucked. 

* * *

  
  
**END**


End file.
